


Raid

by ML Mead (moonlightmead)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Community: discoveredinalj, Drugs, M/M, Outdoor Sex, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlightmead/pseuds/ML%20Mead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle decides that hiding from pursuing policemen whilst undercover and accidentally high is a splendid time to proposition Bodie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Heliophile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heliophile/gifts).



Doyle was skinning up.

Sandwiched between two giggling figures of indeterminate gender, he sat cross-legged on a mattress with an album cover across his lap. He neatly stuck two cigarette papers together with the gum from a third and fumbled for the tobacco tin. Leaning against the wall, Bodie watched: a blasé and solitary tough. The party pulsed and swirled around them.

 _When's the bust?_ he wondered absently. He and Doyle had been working two ends of the same operation, but time was pressing. So the party they were presently attending was due to be busted, and small cogs in the Burton machine would find themselves swept up just as the gang needed more men. Conveniently to hand would be Bodie, a cynical hardman, and Doyle, currently portraying himself as a roadie who used the band's Marshall stacks to conceal and carry pharmaceuticals across borders. Each would provide murky backstory for the other.

"Ah ah ah, no sneezing!" Doyle jovially bumped one of his neighbours back from leaning too close, and efficiently spread tobacco along the papers. "Who's got it, then?" he mouthed exaggeratedly over the noise of the space rock filling the air. He looked from one blank face to the other. "What, no offers?" He looked up at Bodie, his face lit up with mischief. "Hey. Tall, dark and hard man. Your turn."

Bodie rolled his eyes, reached without looking into a pocket of his leather jacket, and threw a small cellophane-wrapped cube at Doyle. Doyle caught it deftly. He unwrapped it, sniffed it appraisingly, and flicked his lighter on. He crumbled the edge of the cube and spread it gently over the tobacco. Ritualistically, he rolled the joint up, and ran his tongue along the gum with exaggerated care. He picked a solitary strand of tobacco out of the end, and inserted a small piece of cardboard. "There we go, ladies and gents. Tea is served." He flicked his gaze between his companions as he thumbed the lighter. Bodie wasn't sure which figure was supposed to be which. "Shall I pour?"

The music cut out with a howl from the speakers. Voices suddenly sounded too loud and came stuttering to a halt. Doyle and Bodie caught each other's eyes. Doyle surged up from the mattress, protecting the unlit joint with one hand as he inserted the lighter into his pocket. As a general buzz of discontent began to rise in volume, the lights went out and a crash was heard at the door. By then, Doyle was already halfway across the room.

" _Raid!_ " shouted someone downstairs.

"Come on, mate." A breath in Bodie's ear. "Kitchen window. Fire escape." An ungentle tug. Bodie followed unhesitatingly. All was confusion. They shouldered their way through a landing suddenly full of people and noise, down two steps, up three -- damn these Victorian conversions -- and into the kitchen. The window had been propped open. A can rolled gently on the sill, its owner suddenly absent. Bodie dived through the gap, and Doyle wriggled through after him, pausing only to pull the wedge out.

"Cruel, Doyle." Bodie paused for a second to share a grin, and then the two bolted, adrenaline fuelling them. They headed up towards the roof, their boots clattering on the metal stairs, until they reached the top level of the escape.

"Ah, bollocks." The fire escape terminated at the level of the topmost flat. The roof itself was tantalisingly out of reach.

"C'mon, you've jumped further than that for Martin." Doyle was eager.

"Yeah, but only to avoid hearing his copping-off tales. You go first, yank me up after."

Doyle didn't hesitate. Not waiting for a leg-up, he swarmed up Bodie's body instead, somehow making it onto a crouching position on Bodie's shoulders before Bodie could blink. "Arms." Bodie automatically thrust his arms up for Doyle to grab as he stood up on Bodie's shoulders. Doyle transferred his grip to the roof edge, hauled himself up, and disappeared completely over it. Before Bodie could panic, a muffled laugh floated down and Doyle's head appeared. "It's a parapet. Hang on." He wedged himself, and leaned over, both arms extended. "Ready." 

Bodie leapt from a standing start, grabbed Doyle's forearms, hung for a paralysing moment, then felt Doyle strain to lever them up. As soon as he could grab the parapet himself, he did, got one leg over, and dropped heavily onto Doyle, who went back down behind the parapet in a tangle of limbs and stifled laughter. Bodie grinned ruefully to himself. Rolling around on top of your partner on rooftop edges at night. What a way to earn a living. Doyle's voice broke into his thought.

"Watch it, you'll damage the valuables."

"Can't have that. Generations of unborn Doyles will be lost." Bodie lifted his leg.

"Not there, you twat. This." Doyle struggled out from under Bodie, his hand going to his pocket. "Oh." He regarded the bent joint sorrowfully.

"You just can't roll 'em straight in the first place."

"I resent that."

"Also, Doyle. Also," he added pointedly, "It's my dope."

"Oh yeah. So it is. Thanks, mate." Doyle tucked the joint carefully away, ignoring Bodie's point. "Right, let's get on with it." He hauled Bodie to his feet, Bodie toppling into him. Doyle automatically grabbed him by the shoulders. As Bodie extricated himself, he could feel laughter starting in Doyle's chest. _Oh no. Not here._ "C'mon." They ran lightly over the flat roof. Their luck was in. An identical fire escape began a few yards beneath them on the other side of the building.

Doyle paused only to pass comment -- "Piece of piss. Don't wake the natives" -- and dropped, landing with only the faintest noise. The platform shook but held. As Doyle moved aside, Bodie followed. The metal echoed. "Oh, nice one, Bodie."

"Precision landing there, Doyle, that's the parachute training."

"Pity you didn't have one now. Would've been quieter."

As they reached the ground again, Bodie realised that very little time had passed. The police were still bundling party-goers out of the front door. "This way, I think." It proved easy to distract Doyle, who had lost his characteristic ability to slump into stillness and instead was taking a lively and very obvious interest in their surroundings. Any minute now, he'd start commenting.

"Hey, Bodie, look at that!" Oh Christ. He was off.

"No, Doyle, not stopping. All a bit pointless if we get picked up now." He began to move, Doyle now trailing reluctantly.

"But, Bodie--"

Bodie stopped suddenly. Doyle nearly crashed into him. Bodie looked at him more carefully. "How much have you had, Doyle? And of what?"

"Rolled the spliffs, didn't smoke much of them. Touch of speed, that's all." His face was turned to Bodie's, his eyes laughing. "Not much."

"Oh great. You're gonna be like this all night, are you?"

"Like what?" Innocence warred with glee as Doyle bounced slightly on his toes.

Bodie lost patience and grabbed him. "Come on. You're not walking home like that. I'll give you a lift." He ignored Doyle's protests and physically shuffled him in the direction of his car, relieved now that he had parked less than a mile away. Doyle resisted for a few seconds, mercifully in silence, before yielding and allowing himself to be hurried. After some minutes of Bodie coaxing and dragging him in the right direction, he got the idea. "In a hurry, are we? Okay." Unhelpfully anxious to assist, his walk turned into a stumbling lope and Bodie now found himself having to restrain his partner. Torn between exasperation and amusement, he slung an apparently congenial arm around Doyle's shoulders, and tightened it like a vice.

"Doyle. You're a walking advert for the sus laws. Calm down, for Christ's sake! You're still carrying, you moron." Doyle, absorbed in happy observation of the world about him, was now wriggling.

"Gerroff, Bodie, you've caught my hair."

Bodie maintained the appearance of good Samaritan to inebriated friend as he sought an escape route. They were in a minor shopping area with few lights on in houses. Nothing was open. The park to their left was blackness beyond illuminated trees. The palings of the fence reflected the only streetlight. A figure loitered against a car, orange light of cigarette winking through his fingers as he sheltered it. Traffic trying to avoid the main routes marked on the A-Z made up the only vehicles other than -- _Shit_. A police van with room for guests in the back was racing in the direction of the recently vacated party. Instinctively, Bodie clutched Doyle tighter around the shoulders.

Doyle clearly saw an opportunity for wind-up. "Bodie! I never knew you cared."

Ow. Far too close to the bone. "Shut up, Doyle."

"But, Bodie--" Doyle stopped wriggling, slumped in against him, turned his head, and addressed himself to his partner. "I--"

His declaration was interrupted by a siren. The black Maria was not alone.

An engine roared into life and the full beams shone suddenly from the parked car onto the road. The man with the cigarette flicked it away, and swung rapidly into the car on the passenger side.

"Mike!" Doyle's happy shout was only partly obscured by the unmarked police car's newly-unveiled siren. Bodie's jaw dropped. What? He slammed a hand over his partner's mouth.

"Mmmfgh mmff!"

"Shut up. This way." In principle, Bodie had no objection to speed. It had been a mainstay of his mercenary days, and had been useful even beyond. But he had always known when to keep the fuck quiet. Pity Doyle didn't. He hustled the ineffectually protesting Doyle in the direction of the park. The gate was shut but unlocked.

Lifting his hand from Doyle's mouth for a nerve-wracking minute, he dragged him through. Closing the gate without a sound while holding his objecting partner proved to be a complicated business. Doyle was as fit as he was, clearly in a restless mood, and determined to explain something. "That was-- Bodie!" Bodie strengthened his hand over Doyle's mouth and nerved himself for an attempted bite. When he felt instead a warm tongue dragging over his palm, he shivered inadvertently and started to move his hand away. "--that was Mike! We were on the same beat!" Bodie clamped his lips down on his urge to imprecations and pressed his hand back over Doyle's mouth. "We-- mmmf! Bo-- mmmf!"

Doyle subsided momentarily. Bodie took the chance to close the gate relatively soundlessly and turned to glare at Doyle. Doyle yanked himself away, stepped back, and took a breath to protest. As he took in Bodie's glare, he took another step back and raised his arms in conciliation. The effect was spoiled by the glitter in his eyes. In the gloom, his pupils were huge.

"Come _on_ , Doyle." Bodie grabbed him as a headlight approached on the road and slowed to pause by the park entrance. "Oh, for--" He chivvied Doyle into the gloom of the park. Doyle was apparently getting into the spirit of the chase again: he tore off, with Bodie following only inches behind him. As they reached a flat lawn and a pavilion, he grabbed for Doyle again. Doyle stopped unexpectedly and Bodie cannoned into him. A silent burst of laughter emerged from Doyle. Bodie began to consider the damage to the operation if he simply left Doyle to be picked up. He didn't deserve this.

Five minutes later, he and Doyle were pressed up between a holly bush and the side of the pavilion as they listened to the calls of two beat constables sweeping the park. Bodie held his breath as the gaze of one swept unseeingly over the gap. It would be easier to remain sanguine if only he didn't have Doyle doing his impression of a climbing plant over his shoulder and back. High on speed and spliffs, Doyle found the whole situation hilarious and was determined to share his thoughts.

"Psst. Bodie. Bodie!"

"Get _off_ , Doyle."

"Bodie!"

"What?"

"This is like cops and robbers when you're five."

"Doyle, we _are_ the fucking cops and robbers. Shut up."

Doyle was undeterred. "Which are we? And where are the others?" He squirmed, trying to get past Bodie and see. Bodie automatically leaned back to hold him in place. His eyes widened with shock as Doyle clambered unselfconsciously around him.

"Doyle!"

"Sorry." Doyle sounded unchastened, but did at least pause.

"Good."

Doyle tried the same manoeuvre again.

"Doyle!"

"What?"

"If you're sorry, stop doing it."

"I just wanted to..."

"Tough. Stand still. Still, for Christ's sake. Right, come here." Bodie grabbed Doyle's shoulder with one hand and made to trap his other arm too. Doyle's other arm was lying against his front, and Bodie found himself holding Doyle's wrist just above his crotch. Bodie froze, and realised the bastard was laughing again. At least this time it was silently. Counting the minutes until Younger Plod departed the safety of the bowling green for the uncertainties of the bushes next to the tennis court, he held on grimly.

Doyle twitched his wrist. Bodie froze in disbelief.

"Doyle!"

A breath in his ear. "What?"

"Bloody hell, I'm never letting you near speed again. And you on the bloody drugs squad."

Doyle's grin would have been blinding in daylight. "Secret of my success, this. 'm good undercover. Easy. Coming down now, though." He made to move his hand towards his jacket pocket. Bodie was lulled for a moment before he recalled what Doyle had tucked in there on the roof. He grasped Doyle more firmly. He pressed his weight against Doyle, holding him against the wall.

"You are _not_ lighting that now!"

"Not worried, are you? Bodie? C'mon, just a couple of plods, that's what you always say about the police, isn't it? Couldn't find their collective arse with a torch and a medical textbook." Doyle, overcome with his own wit, went limp, his curls brushing Bodie's neck as he collapsed into giggles. "With a... torch... couldn't find..."

Bodie gritted his teeth as the breath ghosted against his skin in spurts. "Couldn't... find..." Doyle abandoned his attempt to reach for the joint, to pursue this enchanting thought instead. "Couldn't..." He shook his head with mirth, his hair tangling with the zip on Bodie's jacket. Heedless, he continued. "It's not like it's difficult." He made as if to demonstrate on Bodie.

Bodie froze in disbelief as Doyle's hand grabbed his backside unerringly. "See!" A triumphant but surprisingly restrained crow. "Easy! Look what I've found!" Doyle pressed his palm to Bodie's jeans and rotated his hand. "Found it!" Bodie, balanced precariously on the verge between visibility and shadow, and his eyes on the younger policeman, didn't dare move or make a sound above a strangled whisper.

"Doyle!"

"And I didn't even need the torch..." Doyle's hand continued its circle around Bodie's jeans and right arse cheek, his mind clearly a long way from Earnshaw Park. "Hello, sailor..." Bodie couldn't believe what his lunatic of a partner was trying to do. Surely, Doyle _must_ know that while he wouldn't get thumped for presumption, he was certainly heading for a hiding on the grounds of idiocy. The single, the absolute, the only bright spot was that the nearby policeman was heading back to the park gates. Doyle continued his explorations.

"What the bloody hell--" With a monumental effort, Bodie managed to keep his voice down.

A muffled laugh. "Ah, c'mon, Bodie. No strings, mate." Doyle's right hand had now reached for the back of Bodie's neck. His fingertips drifted over the nape of Bodie's neck where the hair stopped, and then up to ruffle the short hair. Bodie shivered as Doyle's hand smoothed its way back down his neck. Sanity returned as Doyle added, "Who's gonna know?"

Bodie could think of lots of possibilities: him, his partner, the departing -- but still nearby -- policeman, the departing -- but still nearby -- policeman's partner, the custody sergeant at the nick, everyone on the police radio if a couple of CI5 agents were arrested for indecency, the magistrates, the court reporters, Cowley.... _Cowley_. Ice shot down his back. "Pack it in!"

Doyle froze, but didn't relinquish his efforts. "Bodie?" There was still laughter in his voice, but it was more devil-may-care now. "Don't want me to? Not the idea I've been getting recently, mate. Telling me you don't fancy it?"

That was the trouble. One part of Bodie did fancy whatever Doyle was proposing, very much, and that part was trying to make itself known. And -- Christ -- it was doing just that.

"They're not gonna hang about," mumbled a cynical voice in his ear. "They want bodies, mate, and there's plenty back at the bust." Doyle shifted his weight against Bodie's midriff and satisfaction entered his voice. "And I don't think we want you out on the main road looking like that, do we?" The hand cupping his buttocks moved. Doyle's fingers pressed tightly into the crack of Bodie's arse, pushing the material beneath so that it caught for a few seconds. Then his hand returned to make a proprietorial squeeze before moving confidently round to the front of Bodie's trousers.

"Why?" Doyle's frustration was evident "Why jeans tonight, Bodie? Of all nights? Bloody hell." The complaint tailed off into incoherent grumbling. Despite the lunacy of the situation, Bodie was entertained at Doyle's discomfiture. He was also finding it increasingly hard to stay in control. He realised he was starting to push his crotch against Doyle's long fingers as they curled to fit around the bulge in the material. He stifled a groan. "Cops..."

Doyle's eyes, pupils enlarged, glittered as he swept the gloom. "Seriously, mate, they're going. So... " Bodie suddenly recognised the anticipatory pause and groaned silently for the inevitable attempt at a pun. "One goes in, another comes out. Which are you? Coming or going?"

"Jesus, Doyle." The protest was half-hearted. Doyle was leaning against the pavilion wall, a satisfied and lecherous grin on his face, and Bodie facing him, partially concealed by the bush. Bodie was astonished at the lechery on Doyle's face. _Is he always like this on this stuff? Bad enough in his normal state. We are never going to make it home. We are never even going to make it to the car. He'll be knobbing the parking meters on the way_. 

Yielding, insanely, he swung himself round so that he too was leaning against the wall, or would be if he was not half-covering Doyle. At least this way he had half a hope of spotting intruders. 

Doyle gave a grunt of satisfaction. "Knew you would." His hand meandered its way around Bodie's waist above the jeans, to re-establish its hold on Bodie's crotch. His fingers curled slightly. Bodie closed his eyes. Fuck. Doyle's left hand reached around Bodie's back to grasp his side, grip him tightly, and draw him close. Bodie let himself be drawn in. Doyle's eyelids were shuttered, absorption plain, as his right hand played over Bodie's flies. Bodie realised Doyle wasn't trying to undo him yet, simply playing, pressing one index finger up and down the evident bulge. Damp breath on his ear made him shiver. A whisper came from Doyle. "Alright?" He couldn't reply.

A gleeful laugh, and suddenly the fingers and thumb were no longer stroking him through the fabric, but meeting around the zip and edging it down. The pressure on his crotch lightened slightly, although the button still held his jeans up and he was all tangled up inside his pants, straining uncomfortably against the cotton. He stretched, trying to relieve the pressure.

"All in good time, eh? Just a minute." Unable to reach further with his left hand, Doyle withdrew it from between Bodie and the wall and let him lean against it. "There." With both hands, he was rapidly able to undo Bodie's flies. He wriggled back into his earlier position behind Bodie, pushing Bodie's jeans down over his hips. Bodie realised exactly where Doyle was standing and started to tense, but a confident hand on his balls, snaking under his underpants and gently stroking the furry surface, threw that thought from his mind. Doyle evidently caught the thought. "Nah, sunshine, don't panic. Nothing heavy. No strings. What's a wank between mates, eh?" He immediately spoiled the reassurance by walking his fingers down Bodie's balls and back behind towards his perineum, but grinned again -- Bodie could feel his facial muscles pressed into the back of his neck -- and trailed them lightly forward. "Nah, wouldn't do that to you, sunshine." A heartbeat. "Not unless you ask."

Bodie registered the words, but was unable to frame an answer. Doyle's other hand had begun to move and now Doyle was deftly freeing him from his pants and slipping them down to his thighs with his jeans. Bodie was ridiculously exposed despite the dark, and was grateful for Doyle's busy hands covering him. He pushed.

"What you want?" Doyle was still able to pay attention.

"Out.. of the... way..."

"Oh, Bodie. Boring." Nevertheless, Doyle took three long steps sideways behind the bush, impatiently guiding Bodie with his hands on his genitals. "Come on, then."

Doyle settled back against the wall again, the two of them back in the same position. His hand confidently reached for Bodie's penis, thumb and forefinger encircling it. "What do you like, eh?" Without giving Bodie a chance to answer, he ran his fingers from the root to the tip, catching the loose skin and stretching it over the glans. "Like that?" Without letting go, he moved his hand back, still holding the foreskin under his thumb and retracting it gently. He repeated this motion, considering its visible effect on Bodie. "Mmm?" He let go for a minute and brought his hand up to his mouth. When it returned, saliva was clinging to his forefinger. "What about...?" He ran the saliva-soaked fingertip over the glans in little circles. "What about that? "

Bodie was incapable of replying immediately, his legs bending, his right arm stretched around and back to reach for Doyle, and his left resting in abandon on the wall.

Doyle was evidently confident -- or insane -- enough to take that as approval. He continued to circle his finger lightly all over the glans, his other arm curled around Bodie's waist and gripping him tight. Still gripping him, Doyle let his chin fall forward onto Bodie's shoulder again, moved his hand up Bodie's cock to encircle the shaft, and began to whisper into his ear.

"You like this, Bodie... What you thinking of, eh?... Thinking it's me? ... or closing your eyes and pretending it's someone else? Fancy someone else, do you? Or just getting off on this? Knowing it's me? Can you imagine what we look like, eh? What you look like?" Doyle evidently felt the tensing. "Don't worry mate, I've got you. Not as mad as all that. Not gonna cock it up. Not gonna fuck it up. Just a bit of a wank, eh? Long op soon... don't like those bastards... speed always gets me like this... should have seen the choices at the party, mate... Jesus, dogs, every one of them... if I'm gonna screw about, you're looking better every day, mate..."

Bodie barely heard the words, as Doyle's fingers diverted, and trailed down to caress his balls, palm and fingers cupping him gently. They lingered there for a little. A gentle squeeze. Then Doyle's hand returned and his fingers began to fly over Bodie in earnest. He stopped trying to make sense into his ear, and mumbled what passed for his thoughts into Bodie's shoulder. Bodie stared out at the night as he felt his balls draw up and the pressure begin to build. No hope of seeing the stars, not from an overcast London park, but the moon was visible, sailing over the clouds. His neck and spine arched as he pushed himself forward into Doyle's willing hand, eyes no longer sweeping the park but fixing sightlessly on the moon. A note of approval emerged from Doyle's maunderings as Bodie continued to thrust into his hands, and he clutched Bodie tighter to him. He nuzzled his way down Bodie's neck, mouth constantly touching, and tongue trailing saliva down. His hand beat on, the strokes more rapid and concentrating on the tip now. Bodie felt the pulses begin to form. He gasped. "Ray--" Doyle clearly understood and buried his head on Bodie's neck, lips pressed so hard that Bodie couldn't tell whether he was kissing or biting and didn't give a damn, because he was coming, coming and shooting spurts of liquid into the gloom, five glitters against the darkness, tearing his eyes away from the sky to watch his body's release through his partner's fingers.

He lay back, shattered. He could hear his breathing, hoarse in the still air, and feel his heart -- no, Doyle's heart -- hammering. He realised how heavy he must be and shifted himself off Doyle. There was a hiss of satisfaction, and it was only as Doyle's fingers left him that he realised they had been cradling him gently. Doyle moved seamlessly to attend to his own needs, unzipping frantically and letting his cock spring free. He wriggled urgently to get his jeans open enough to free his balls. Doyle's hips were faint in the dark, his jeans rumpled uncomfortably below them. Bodie registered briefly that Doyle was not encumbered by underwear -- the gossip was true, then -- before Doyle wrapped his right hand around his cock, the other settling his balls more comfortably. Bodie watched in fascination as Doyle immediately lost himself in a whirl of fingers flashing up and down. His left hand moved over his balls and curled down to cup them before tightening their grip slightly, his fingers swirling gently as his palm pressed lightly and his right hand raced. Bodie had never seen his partner like this. Doyle's breath was coming faster now, and there was sweat on his face. His eyes were half-closed, his expression strained. Bodie couldn't see what, if anything, Doyle was focusing on, but his body was tilted towards him. Propped against the wall, he shuddered. Abruptly Bodie wondered whether Doyle was expecting Bodie to reciprocate for him. Before he could decide what to do, Doyle frantically directed his cock away from them and sagged further against the wall as climax hit him. To his astonishment, Bodie could feel a tiny twitch of sympathy in his own cock.

The sensation returned him to his senses, suddenly aware of the sweat on his back. There was saliva trickling down his neck and semen down his penis. The saliva and semen were rapidly cooling. How long had he lain against Doyle and then against the wall, open to the gaze of anyone who walked past? What had they just done? Christ. It had been fucking amazing, but supremely stupid of them. Doyle had been high as a kite. Never mind what he had burbled incoherently in his elevated mood, no way would Doyle have chanced his arm normally. What if he started to regret it now? They had an op to finish. They--

"You bastard." Doyle's voice was level.

He froze.

"Leaning on me like that. If you've smashed my spliff up, I'll sodding well kill you."

"Doyle..." The relief drained through him as he turned to face his partner. Doyle's eyes met his, impenitent, as he drew the battered joint from his jacket pocket. "Look at it," he accused.

"You can't roll them, that's all." He busied himself doing himself up, wincing as he tucked himself in. Jeans were bad enough without putting himself away damp.

"Was a good spliff."

"It was bent."

Doyle's lip quirked. "Sounds quite--"

"Don't even think of saying it, Doyle."

Doyle transferred his from one foot to the other and back, making as if to say something, then catching himself. Bodie gave up.

"What?"

Despite what he'd just done, Doyle didn't seem embarrassed, nor cast down. Indeed, he still seemed to be riding the effects of the speed, brandishing the joint like a weapon.

"Good way to come down, this."

Bodie gazed at him.

"You're going to tell me I shouldn't light it, aren't you?"

Bodie found his voice. "Yes."

"Killjoy. You're going to tell me I shouldn't speed, too, aren't you?"

Bodie's mouth twitched. "Oh yes."

Doyle shook his head. "All on the job." He paused. "You're going to tell me I shouldn't have done that--" he flicked the remains of the joint in the direction of Bodie's crotch "--either, aren't you?"

There was a silence.

"Bodie?"

Bodie stirred. "You shouldn't have, no."

"But?"

"But... " Bodie considered his options. _Play it safe. For now. There's an op to finish._ "But... Like you said, a..." He paused.

"Quick wank between friends?" Understanding laced Doyle's voice. "Yeah, if you want. Doesn't have to be anything more."

"Right then." Somehow, Bodie felt he'd missed something, as if Doyle's speeding mind had made connections he couldn't even see. "Reckon the raid's over?"

"Depends if they found the acid yet or not."

"Did you put it somewhere obvious?"

"Oh yeah, mate." Doyle bounced happily. "In the ballcock." He reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and produced, impossibly, a small screwdriver.

"In the ballcock? That's your idea of obvious?"

Doyle's face shone with innocence. "Not that I wanted C division to have to go taking a toilet apart. Obviously."

Bodie kept his face straight. "Obviously."

"And not that there was much need to plant anything. There was a nine-ounce block sellotaped underneath the top of the cistern." He paused. "Took me bloody half an hour to get in there, too. They're all vegetarians and lentil eaters there. Full of fibre, that stuff."

Bodie smiled. It was going to be alright. It was all going to be alright. He put an arm around Doyle's shoulder and guided him towards the park gate. Doyle moved with him willingly. "Put the joint back, Doyle."

Doyle looked mournful but complied. Bodie relinquished his hold as they approached the gate. As they emerged onto the main road, Doyle straightened up, resuming his characteristic saunter. Bodie watched with a new awareness. _I know what's under there. I know what's under those clothes, and a bit more of what's under that hair. Not entirely sure where all that came from, though: the speed? The op? Somewhere else? How much more is under there, waiting?_ He realised his pace had slowed when Doyle paused and turned to wait for him.

"Alright, mate?"

"Yeah." He pushed his meditation to one side. "Only one thing."

"Yeah?"

"Acid in the ballcock. Dope in the cistern. Where do you think Richards was hiding your speed?"

Doyle's face fell. As they reached the car, it was Bodie who was laughing at his partner, and Bodie wasn't even high.

**Author's Note:**

> Written and first posted in November 2011 for a prompt on DIALJ: Heliophile asked for 'uncharacteristically handsy while accidentally/obliged to get high'


End file.
